Magic Man
by SilverFlora
Summary: I'm really excited about this because it's my first fanfic! I really hope everyone likes it! Some other humans make a cameo in this, I hope you all recognize them! It starts out after season 3, so definite spoilers! John is visiting Sherlock when a case stumbles upon them
1. A New Case

YAY! My first story! I hope you all like it! Please be gentle, I don't want to be scared from writing forever!

"What are you talking about Mycroft? Just because Moriarty's back doesn't mean Sherlock… Alright, alright. Yes, I'll stay with him tonight. I'll go over to discuss cases and act like I lost track of time. Yes, I know he'll see right through that, but does that matter? If tonight's supposed to be bad, why would he care? Fine… when do you think he'll be back? Ok, I'll talk to you later. Bye." The man was wearing blue jeans, and plaid button shirt and a cardigan. His hair and posture said military, but the life of John Watson was a little more exciting than that.

Mary Watson looked up from her book at her husband and John spoke, "Mycroft thinks tonight's going to be a bad one." John sat down on the sofa next to his pregnant wife. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it, but Mary understood.

It had been two month since Sherlock had murdered Charles Augustus Magnusson, was exiled from his country, been sent to his death in Eastern Europe, and returned only after four minutes of his punishment, only to discover that the man he had tried his best to destroy and get rid of had somehow managed to survive. Sherlock Holmes had put his friends through pain and suffering to dismantle Moriarty's vast network only to find that his efforts had been futile. Moriarty was still out there and people were still getting hurt.

Sherlock hid it very well how much he was hurt and angry. He acted like himself, arrogant and an ass, but John knew that this affected him more than he let on. He couldn't see to what extent it had gone to, but he knew there was something wrong. Sherlock hadn't taken a case since, even though hundreds had come to him. He claimed they were all "too boring." John knew he would need a case soon or he might go crazy.

"John, it's only been two months. I'm sure Sherlock is still upset. Besides, Sherlock knows that it would be bad to go straight to drugs the first night by himself. He's been alone a month now. He's trying to trick us into thinking he's fine. He's going to need the company tonight." Mary looked at John. She knew she couldn't get in the way of what Sherlock and John had, and she didn't want to. A friendship like John and Sherlock's should never be broken.

"Thank you Mary." John looked at his pregnant wife. She was getting closer to term, and John didn't want to leave her, but he knew she would be fine for one night. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Sherlock? Do we have any jam?" Silence filled the flat that John Watson was sharing with Sherlock Holmes for that night. "Sherlock?" John called from the kitchen again. "Maybe he finally decided to do the shopping," John said to himself. He was using this as a way to try and relax. If Sherlock was gone, John could not freak out. He had to stay calm, maybe Sherlock just wasn't paying attention. John went into the living room area expecting to find Sherlock on the sofa or in his chair moping because he was bored. He wasn't there though. His phone wasn't on the desk, but his computer was. John tried to ring him but he didn't pick up. He checked his messages: none. John went to check the coat rack and both Sherlock's coat and scarf were gone. "Oh, shit…" John whispered, and he ran out of the flat to go find Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes currently was wandering the streets of London. He had already shot the wall a few times, played his violin, and welcomed John back into the flat. He knew why John was there, but would never tell him that he was glad John was there. Even though he had seen him almost every day since Sherlock had kept his promise, Sherlock still missed the constant company of when he and John had lived together.

Sherlock didn't want to admit it, but drugs had been on his mind. Mrs. Hudson had even got rid of her "herbal soothers" because she was worried about Sherlock. He knew it would be a bad idea, but it hadn't been long since he had been on opium for the Magnusson case. Sherlock's steps faltered. Magnusson, the man he had killed for John and Mary Watson. If put in the same situation again, he would not hesitate to protect John. That image was forever embedded in his brain though. The sight of the gun in Sherlock's hand, firing, and Magnusson hitting the ground. He had nightmares of this scene every night. The first month was bad, John had to come in and wake him a few times he was so worried about Sherlock. They got better after a few weeks, but then John had left and gone back to Mary, and they came back full force, worse than before. The scene would change, and Magnusson would shoot John, or worse, John would try to stop Sherlock and he would shoot John instead. Those were the worst ones. You couldn't blame Sherlock for wanting something to help him forget for a while.

Sherlock hadn't taken a case in the two months since and was getting anxious. He had already gone to his favorite restaurant to sit and not eat, he'd taken a taxi to the museum, and he had already checked for any new police reports. Now he was pouting on a bench, judging the people as they walked on the streets of London. Or run, apparently.

Her breathing looked even, but her heart was racing from panic. You could see it in her eyes. She looked lost. She was on the receiving end of curious looks and glances as she ran through London. Definitely a tourist, probably American. She looked to be between the ages of 17 to 19. Probably 18, but age is so hard to guess at a glance.

It was easier to study her as she ran towards Sherlock, her features coming more into focus. She was wearing jeans and converse, an expensive brand of shoe. She didn't look like the kind of person who had a lot of money, she probably bought them at a sale. Her shirt depicted a band name, Fall Out Boy, it was black and the lettering was in white, styled like the old Coca-Cola brand. Her jacket was made of jean. It looked new enough, but well worn, as if she had been outside a lot with it. It was dirty like she had fallen quite a bit and looked like it had been slept in. It was a nice jacket though, not one meant to be worn outside much unless it was a nice day outside. Maybe she was homeless, or a runaway. She was probably meeting someone who would take her in but obviously got lost on her way, wait, what was that?

The girl had glanced around and looked more panicked than before. She began to run faster. What was she looking at? Sherlock stood to get a better look down the street to see if he could find what the girl was looking at. There didn't appear to be anyone out of the ordinary on the street. Who is th-

"Sherlock!" A shout from in the busy street that no one heard. Except Sherlock. It's funny, you can be completely oblivious to everything around you, but you automatically hear when someone shouts your name. Sherlock heard his name and turned. The crowd was too thick though. He couldn't see John. He paused for a second, decided he was hearing things, and then turned around.

Sherlock felt something crash into him and he hit the ground. He felt a weight on his chest. "Help," a whisper in his ear for only a second, before the person on top of him sat up. She looked different up close. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a high pony tail and covered in sweat, like she had been running for a while. Her bangs hung into her face, plastered to her forehead. Her lips were small, they would probably look better with lipstick. Her nose was normal enough, a small ridge at the top made it appear to pronounce itself more. It was her eyes that caught Sherlock's attention though. Her chocolate eyes bored into Sherlock's blue ones, one looked like it was bruised but covered in make-up. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. So very sorry." She said in a British accent. It wavered a little though because she was scared. Defiantly American, but a very good accent. It could fool almost anyone. Almost.

She picked herself up off of Sherlock and tried to run again. "Wait," Sherlock grabbed her hand and used her to haul himself up off the ground. She almost lost her balance, not expecting such a tall man to use her as a lever. Sherlock straightened his jacket and looked the girl in her eyes, "What's the rush?"

"Sherlock!" People were beginning to stare at the little man shouting in the street, trying to work his way through the crowd. Sherlock heard his name again and began to turn. The girl used this distraction to pull her hand out of Sherlock's grasp. She started to run again but no way was that happening. Sherlock reached out and grabbed her again.

Her eyes began to dart around, landing on individuals in the crowd, only for mere seconds though before they were looking at something else. The people she looked at seemed normal enough, but perhaps there was something else going on.

"What are you looking at?" Sherlock asked. Her eyes slammed back to Sherlock and something crossed her face. Recognition maybe? Sherlock wasn't exactly inconspicuous, it was probable that she would have known about him even if she was from America.

She yanked her hand out of Sherlock's grasp. She put her hand in her pocket and paused. She wasn't sure if she could trust him. He looked like that man who helps people, that consulting detective, but she could be wrong. Just because she was American doesn't mean she hadn't heard about him. People all over the world were talking about Sherlock Holmes, the man to go to if you need help with a problem. She certainly had a problem, but could she trust him? Sherlock was notoriously known in England for refusing almost all the cases that came to him. Apparently he thinks Scotland Yard gets all the interesting ones. What did she have to lose if she did trust him though, besides her life, but that was already in danger.

It took the girl only a second to decide to trust Sherlock. She pulled a crumpled paper out of her pocket and dropped it on the ground before turning and running across the busy street. Cars screeched to halts, horns blared as people tried to avoid hitting her. After she had crossed, she turned back and looked at Sherlock, then walked down an alley large enough for a car to fit in. One of the men she had looked at got up and followed her. "Wait!" Sherlock bent down and scooped up the paper and ran after her.

"SHER- Oh this is pointless!" John Watson stopped shouting and began to chase after Sherlock again. "This had better be good, and he better have done the shopping!"

Sherlock ran across the street after her, making the cars stop again, jumping over hoods to get there faster. Just behind was John Watson, apologizing for Sherlock, again. Sherlock got there just in time to see her shoved into a car and it start to speed away. A wicked grin crossed his face, "Oh, now it's interesting," He ran after the car as it made a right turn, and when he rounded the corner there were three cars identical to the one just in the alley, they even had the same license plate. He paused as a scowl crossed his face, giving John enough time to catch up.

"Ah, John, lovely to see you could make it. No time for explanations, but we need to run again." And Sherlock took off. "What have I gotten myself in to," John mumbled to himself. Sherlock and John took off after the cars. What they didn't notice was the fourth identical car, pull out from its parking spot and turn and go the other way, towards the outskirts of London.

As Sherlock and John ran, Sherlock studied the inside of the cars. There was only one with three people. The rest had two. He picked that one, in the middle. He chased it around London until he finally caught up and yanked the door open.

"May we help you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" the man spoke with a thick cockney accent. Probably from one of the slums of England. A brute or grunt, nothing more. Hardly a challenge for Sherlock.

How intriguing. "I see you've heard about me. I have not had the displeasure of knowing you though." There was definitely something going on. These men just looked like trouble. The man driving the car was wearing a chauffer's clothes, suit, tie, cap, he looked general enough. Sherlock couldn't see much of him, but the way he was sitting told Sherlock he had a gun near him. Nothing he could do about that, so he turned his attention to the men in the back. The one closet to Sherlock was wearing working clothes. Heavy trousers, work boots, a plain black shirt with a jacket over it. He looked like he had just woken up, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was mussed. Hung-over, no doubt. He was carrying a weapon though, just a regular hand gun, in his jacket pocket. An angry man with a weapon was a dangerous man. Sherlock kept one eye on him and studied the other man in the car

He was wearing a suit as well, but his looked more expensive. He had a trench coat on, and was his tie backwards? He was wearing loafers, and there were no weapon on him. He was a well groomed man, not a hair out of place. He looked like an angel, his hair jet black. His hands were clasped in his lap, his head tilted back, his eyes closed, as if he was praying. He looked calm, but his expression was smug. He knew Sherlock would chose this car. As Sherlock stared at the well-dressed man, the man's smile grew wider. He kept his eyes closed, like he wouldn't deem Sherlock with the sight of his eyes.

"You won't have to worry about knowing us if you stay here," the hung-over man in the back said as he drew his gun and aimed it at Sherlock's chest. Sherlock frowned, but even he knew when it was time to back off. The situation had changed, Sherlock had something interesting to do.

"Alright, sirs. I'll leave you here. But don't think for one second that I won't try to find her."

"Her? Now what are you talking about Mr. Holmes?" the well-dressed man said. He opened his eyes and looked straight at Sherlock. His eyes would have been a striking blue had they not been clouded over. Sherlock stared at him, and couldn't help feeling that despite the fact that he was blind, he could see right through Sherlock. Obviously he knew what was going on. Sherlock squinted at him, but knew the other man wouldn't just threaten him with the gun if he didn't let them leave soon.

"Until we meet again, Mr. Holmes, I shall wait with bated breath." Sherlock slammed the door, and the car speed away.

"What the hell was that?" John asked Sherlock. Sherlock turned and looked at him with a wide grin on his face. "The game, is on."


	2. Clues

Chapter 2

"Sherlock, what the bloody Hell is going on?" John Watson asked Sherlock Holmes. John Watson was a short man who happened to enjoy his cardigans a bit more than other people. His blond hair was cut short, very military like, and his best friend was Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock was a great man who could tell who your father was by the turn-ups of your jeans. He didn't try to hide this greatness though, which made many people rightfully assume that he was an ass.

"A girl has just been kidnapped, haven't you been paying attention. Please, do try to keep up John." Sherlock retorted to his best friend. Despite the harsh response, Sherlock would do anything for John.

John was currently on the heels of the great Sherlock Holmes as he walked briskly down the street away from where their car chase had ended. Sherlock's coat was dirty from when the young girl had barreled into him and accidentally knocked him to the ground. John resisted the urge to brush off the dirt. He knew that his jacket was his favorite possession, and he would not be happy when he saw the scuff marks. John decided to let him be oblivious to the dirt for a while longer.

Sherlock was a very tall man, and it was hard for John to keep up with his long strides, he was always a few steps behind. He also had no idea where Sherlock was going. It appeared he was back-tracking the chase through his mind, heading back to N. Umberland Terrace where the chase had started.

Unbeknownst to John, that was exactly what Sherlock was doing. Sherlock hadn't been paying much attention to the way they were going before, and now he could walk the path and see everything. Sherlock wanted to get back to the spot where he had first met the girl. He had to see what she saw, who she saw, though they would probably be gone by now. He wanted to see where they were sitting and if they left anything behind.

It took a few more minutes before they reached the bench Sherlock had been on when he saw the girl running down the street. John was quite as he watched Sherlock begin to retrace his steps exactly.

"I was sitting here when I saw her on the street. I wanted to get a better look of her so I stood, and that was when I heard you shout my name John." "You heard me?" John asked. "Why didn't you come over?" "I heard you, I never said I saw you. Besides, I was incapacitated just moments after. That was when she ran into me." Sherlock laid on the ground in the middle of the sidewalk. People were giving them odd stares and John was feeling second-hand embarrassment. "Did you really have to lay on the ground?" John moaned. Sherlock chose to ignore this and he stood up again. "I grabbed her hand here, but I heard you shout again and she almost got away. When I grabbed her again, she seemed frightened, but not of me. Of the people on the street." Sherlock closed his eyes and thought back to the encounter as he held her hand. She had basically closed herself off, tucked her arms as close to herself as she could and tried her best not to have the people touch her. Like she couldn't trust anyone.

Sherlock kept watching the scene in his mind until he found what he wanted. He saw her looking around, her eyes hitting on specific people. Sherlock watched and counted: one, across the street by a shop. Two, on the other side of the ally underneath a terrace. Three, behind her, a man leaning against a brick wall by an ally. Four, in the shop right next to them, eating at a table. Five and six behind Sherlock, sharing a newspaper. All these men seemed completely normal, except the one who followed her into the ally, the one under the terrace.

Sherlock opened his eyes, and crossed the street. John started, he hadn't expected Sherlock to move so suddenly. He followed him to the spot under the terrace and watched as Sherlock began to pick the place apart. There was a bench with a newspaper and a coffee cup on it, some litter, and a spray paint can. John couldn't see how these things would help Sherlock, but he studied them all the same. Sherlock looked at the paint can, and put it back down. He picked up all the litter and pocketed it, along with the newspaper and the coffee cup.

"What are you doing? Playing good Samaritan?" John asked. Sherlock had gone to each of the five spots and done the exact same thing. Picked up all the trash. There was only one cup, and Sherlock had even stared using John's pockets to hold all the trash, much to John's dismay.

"John, this is all evidence. Didn't I tell you she had dropped paper on the ground before she ran?"

"No."

"Oh, well she did. All garbage is fair game them." Sherlock finished cleaning the street and they started the five minute walk back to Baker Street.

"Who was she? Why had she run into me?" Sherlock thought out loud. "It was obviously on purpose since she asked for help, but why me? There were definitely policemen on the street, but she choose (supposedly) a random stranger. She also looked like she knew what was going on. She knew that she was going to get grabbed, but she didn't want to go willing. Maybe she didn't want to put more people in danger, or maybe she used the kidnapping to get information. Then why would she ask for help?" Sherlock was getting more confused just thinking about it.

"Maybe she recognized you. You do have an international reputation. Perhaps she's just a client who used a more unconventional method to get you interested." John said. That seemed obvious to him.

"Well of course she's just a client, John. That's obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock retorted. John made a noise as if he was going to say something, then stopped. No sense in embarrassing himself any more than he already had.

After that, Sherlock stayed locked in his thoughts until he and John got back to their flat. He hadn't spoken once and John was beginning to get worried. He had no idea what was going on, and Sherlock didn't look like he was going to talk anytime soon. John followed Sherlock into the flat where Sherlock decided to sit in his chair and place his hands in front of his face in contemplation. John, unsure what to do, thought it best to leave Sherlock to his thoughts. Besides, they still needed jam.

John returned sometime later with all the groceries. Sherlock was still in his chair in the same position as before. "My God man, haven't you moved once?"

"Of course I have." Sherlock replied. "My violin is in a different spot then before showing that I played it, and there is a me sized depression in the couch from where I was laying."

"Well excuse me for not noticing." Before John could form another thought, Sherlock interrupted.

"Have you ever heard of a Magic Man?"

"A what?"

"A Magic Man, John." Sherlock looked up at John and waited for him to reply.

"No. I can't say that I particularly have. Do you mean like a magician? Does this have to do with that girl?" John said. He walked to his chair across from Sherlock and sat, expecting the World's only Consulting Detective to correct him, but it never came.

Sherlock just sat and got a vacant look in his eyes, his hands together and in front of his face, a pose he usually adopted when deep in thought. John studied Sherlock. He could see that this case was bothering him. John didn't see Sherlock stumped much, but when he did, it was frightening. Sometimes he became obsessive and had to find out what happened, other times he blew it off, stating that you can't solve all of them. This was a case that would bother him, and John knew he had to help Sherlock figure this one out.

Sherlock was thinking as hard as his mind would allow about the one clue he had received. Everything else had just been garbage, and he had to wait to do DNA tests on the cup until tomorrow, but the paper. The paper was fair game.

The paper was just regular computer paper, a white sheet written on hastily, rolled up into a ball, and ripped in the transactions that transpired today. It was also dropped as a hint to Sherlock to help him find the girl, but why? Why just those two words, Magic Man? Capitalized like a name. Maybe she was just writing fast, maybe it was a name, or maybe it was the name of the gang that kidnapped her. In this girls last moments before chase, why was Magic Man the most important thing for her to write? Sherlock thought back to the car chase. He had chosen one of the three cars because it had more people than the others. He had just assumed that more people meant that that's where she had to be. There were three possibilities: she was in that car, hidden, she had been put into a different car and hidden so Sherlock would pick the wrong car, or the girl wasn't in any of the cars on the street. He thought back to before the chase. There was a car parked on the curb that looked similar to the three in the street. He pictured it in his head: turning the corner, running past the car, glancing in its direction, THERE! She was there! In the car that was parked! They had removed her coat and put her back towards the street, but there was no denying it, she was in that car! Now she was gone though, because Sherlock hadn't looked hard enough.


	3. What A Holliday

Chapter 3

It had been three days since the young girl had been taken, and Sherlock was nowhere closer to finding her than he was when he actually had her in his grasp. He had studied the one clue he had received over and over again, checking for fingerprints, what kind of paper it was, where she had gotten, what type of pencil she had used, and so far, all he knew was it was just a generic piece of paper, it had Sherlock's fingerprints all over it and half of her fingerprint, but she wasn't in any database so that was useless, and she had used a number 2 pencil very quickly, like she was rushed. He knew that last part already though.

The night before last, John had spent the night at Sherlock's flat, trying to help him with the case, but nothing new had provided itself. John stayed until late the next evening but he had to go home to Mary. Sherlock was ok with that, he understood that Mary was at a difficult point in her pregnancy. Sherlock suspected she had 2 weeks, tops, left before she gave birth to a baby girl, but he didn't want to ruin the surprise.

Sherlock was up and pacing, unsure of what to do about the case. He was wringing a poor handkerchief to death, and he had reached a point where he felt he was going to start throwing things. He was just about to do that with some of his microscope slides when John came up the stairs.

"John, what are you doing here? I thought you were going to be with Mary all day?" Sherlock was surprised but not displeased to see his favorite doctor. John always helped keep Sherlock sane in trying situations.

John stood in the door and took in the state of the flat. There were papers everywhere, all over the floor, in the couch, taped to the wall; the paper was covering every surface. John next checked Sherlock: his hair was unruly, he was still in his bed clothes and was wearing his blue night robe. There was no sign of food and John bet Sherlock hadn't eaten since John had left the other day. "I thought I'd come by and check on you." Was all John could think to say. He couldn't tell him Mary and he had decided that John should come by every day until this case blew over so John could make sure Sherlock was ok.

"You really didn't need to do that, I'm doing quite fine." Sherlock turned his back on John and started to tidy up the slides he had been about ready to demolish.

John walked the rest of the way into the flat and looked around. He was still obsessing over the case, but he was no good to anyone dead, so John went into the kitchen. "When was the last time you ate?" he asked. He began to try and find food for Sherlock to eat, which was no easy task. Sherlock rarely kept food in the flat because he didn't feel food was necessary. He had his brain, and the rest was just transport. Luckily for John, the food he had bought from when he was there last there was still here. He began to whip up a sandwich and some tea.

"I'll be fine for a little while, I don't need to eat," Sherlock responded. While this conversation was going on, no one heard the doorbell in the cupboard ringing. Mrs. Hudson downstairs heard, and she answered the door for a giant man.

"Hi, is this 221B? Where Sherlock Holmes lives?" he asked. Despite his size, he seemed timid, unsure of the flat he was about to enter.

"Yes, he's right upstairs." Mrs. Hudson led the man upstairs, into Sherlock's flat. "Sherlock, didn't you hear the door buzzer?" She demanded when she got into his flat.

"No, Mrs. Hudson, it's in the cupboards." Sherlock said. He turned around to look at Mrs. Hudson and their guest. Sherlock balked for a second at the young client up, a male, about 25, wearing tennis shoes, jeans, a plaid button up, and a jacket. He was extremely tall, and this daunted Sherlock. He almost looked like a moose.

John came in from the kitchen carrying a tea tray and a sandwich, but stopped when he saw the massive man taking up a large part of the room, and Sherlock couldn't help but laugh and the enormous height difference between the two men. John looked at Sherlock and scowled, then looked up at the mountain, and the man looked down at John, almost sizing each other up, but no way would John have any chance against this tree.

"Thank you very much Mrs. Hudson, I think that will be all we need." Sherlock told his landlady. "Sherlock, you should really get the doorbell fixed" was all she had to say before she went back downstairs.

"Have a seat," John said, indicating the wooden chair that client's sit in. His neck hurt from straining to see the man's face. John set the tea and sandwich on the table by Sherlock. Sherlock glanced at it and John, but didn't touch it. John waited to make sure their client was sitting before sitting himself.

John stopped looking at Sherlock and gave his attention to the giant in the chair. He looked nervous, but most of their clients usually do. Most of them involved whether or not their significant other was cheating on them, and John just assumed that this was another one. Sherlock just had to prove him wrong though.

"You're here about your sister, the girl who was kidnapped three days ago." Sherlock stated. The man looked up in surprise.

"Yes, actually. She said if she didn't return home to come to you and not Scotland Yard. How did you know that though?" He looked baffled and shaken. When he spoke, it was with an American accent. John had been unaware that the girl who was taken was American. He looked at Sherlock and he was just nodding his head.

"We ran into each other the day she was taken. She left me a little clue that perhaps you could help me with." Sherlock walked away from the table and began to walk behind their client. He leaned around the left side of his chair and handed him the folded piece of paper. Sherlock walked around until he was in front of the man so he could see his reaction when he read the paper.

John didn't like this though. It felt different than other cases they've had. "What's your name?" John asked.

The man didn't reply. He just read the paper and turned white as a sheet. "Ah, something you recognize?" Sherlock pried. The man began to stutter, like he couldn't think of what to say. "John, go get him a glass of water." Sherlock looked at John. Sherlock had never done this before, so John thought there must be a reason.

John got up and retrieved the glass of water and handed it to the man. He took and drink, waited, then took a larger drink, downing half the glass in one swallow. He breathed for a second, composed himself, and spoke.

"My name is Jared Holliday. My sister is Clare Holliday, and yes, she was the girl taken a few days ago. She's only 19." Jared looked like he was in emotional turmoil. "I'm not sure if you can help me with this though." Jared said. The color was beginning to return to his face, but a look of despair was overcoming it.

"Try me."

"Magic Man is the name of a gang. They deal specifically in women. It's a sex trafficking ring, and they are evil. They drop clues, show faces to the women they take. They put them into a panic, then grab them. My sister was one of the ones they chose, I guess. She was missing for three days when she turned up at my door. She was hysterical. She said if I didn't hear from her in another three days, to come to Sherlock Holmes." Jared said. As he spoke, it was as if the real situation was dawning on him. He looked like he was having a hard time breathing.

John was horrified. Women being psychologically tortured, then kidnapped and actually tortured. It was terrible. He had to get up, and decided to use it as an excuse to get Jared another drink. Sherlock hadn't said anything yet, as if he was waiting for John to get back before prying farther. As John returned, he watched Sherlock to see how he felt about the news, but couldn't deduce anything. John handed Jared the water, but remained standing this time behind his chair.

"Why didn't she go to Scotland Yard? They would probably find her faster than me." Sherlock said. John looked over at Sherlock in confusion. Why would Sherlock say that? John knew Sherlock would be able to solve this much faster than Scotland Yard ever could. Lestrade was a good man, but he was no Sherlock Holmes.

"She said that they had people in Scotland Yard that work for the Magic Man. I don't know though. Maybe it was just her going crazy in the end." Jared said. John watched as his look of hopelessness grew, like he knew he would never get his sister back. Jared buried his head in his hands, defeat riddling his shoulders.

Sherlock sat in his chair, next to Jared and he leaned towards him a little. He spoke softly to him, in calming tones, "Jared, you look as though you'll never see Clare again. I'll do everything I can to find her and bring her back." John was shocked. He had never heard Sherlock say anything like that to a client. It was usually, "interesting" or "fun." Never "I'll do everything I can."

John looked at Sherlock again, I mean really looked. Sherlock was angry. It was hard to tell, he had the air of not caring about him, but his eyes were on fire. Sherlock had only ever been angry about a case once, and John hadn't even been there. Molly had told him about the time she and Sherlock listened to a case where a girls step father was pretending to be her lover. Sherlock had been royally pissed she had said.

"They took our mother. We had just moved here and our mother had started going a bit loopy. Then, one day, she started screaming about a magic man, and then she just disappeared. We never saw her again, and now they have Clare," Jared couldn't hold it together anymore. He broke down and started sobbing.

This man had been through his own type of torture, his whole family taken from him. He had never mentioned a father, so Sherlock assumed he was either dead, or their mother had wanted them not to know about him. Sherlock knew John had noticed his rage. He was going to use this to find Clare though, and help this man try to rebuild his life.


	4. History and Spies

Chapter 4

Sherlock and John spent the rest of the afternoon trying to calm Jared down. After one cup of tea he was much better, and Sherlock and John sent him home with instructions to come back tomorrow. "Well that was easy" John remarked. "I drugged him. He should pass out when he reaches home." Sherlock said.

John looked at Sherlock, stunned. "He was in the midst of a panic attack and you drugged him?" John almost shouted. "I was tired of his sniveling. He will be of much more use to me tomorrow when he's slept and isn't sobbing." Sherlock stated. John couldn't help but think, not for the first or last time, that this man was actually a robot. Maybe he had been wrong about Sherlock caring before. Perhaps this was just another case.

John had no idea what Sherlock was going through in his mind. Sherlock had been someone who didn't care for a long time. After he met John though, he had someone he did care about. Sherlock had never had a friend, and now he had five. Molly, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Mary, and John. He would do absolutely anything for them, and that feeling seemed to be carrying over to clients. He kept having to remind himself hat caring is not an advantage. He couldn't become too involved to this, in case it didn't work out. This was his first case since Magnusson. He had to dis-attach himself.

So Sherlock and John did research. They discovered everything about his family that they could. One of the more important pieces was that ten years after Clare was born, they decided to move to England. There was no precursor, just grab your things and go. It seemed rather spontaneous to Sherlock, so he looked in to why. Their father was a drug addict and was stalking the family. They had moved twice before but couldn't escape unless they crossed borders or oceans because he didn't have a passport. And an ocean felt safest to Louise, their mother's name.

"Sherlock, it's getting late," John said, leaving it open ended so Sherlock could come to his conclusion. "John, you know your bed is exactly as you left it up-stairs if you wish to stay the night, but I assume you'd like to go home to Mary." Sherlock didn't even look up from the computer. He continued to scroll through records of government institutions he hacked. John gave a sigh of relief. "Yeah, I think I'll go home to Mary. Get some sleep tonight, Jared will be back tomorrow with more information." John said as he stood and picked up his coat. "Mmh," was all Sherlock responded with. John shook his head and left Sherlock for the night.

John came over early the next day to discover Sherlock asleep at his desk. He woke up the second John walked into the living room.

"John, what're you doing? I thought you were going home?" Sherlock asked. He seemed rather disoriented and definitely had no idea what time it was. "Sherlock, I've been gone all night, its seven thirty in the morning. What time did you go to sleep last night?" John asked. He had a hunch that Sherlock hadn't been sleeping the past few nights and this helped confirmed his suspicion. The fact that Sherlock's brain basically shut down and forced him to sleep was extremely worrying to John.

"Oh. I must have been around 6:45. No problem, some tea and I'll be fine." Sherlock jumped out of his chair and stumbled a little. "Oh no, mister. You're going to bed. I'll make tea, you can come out at ten after you've had a few hours of sleep." John said, and he began to shut down Sherlock's computer. "John wait, my research-" "Will still be there when you wake up. Bed. Now." And John ushered Sherlock to his bedroom and laid him in bed. He was asleep almost instantly. John knew Jared would come by later that afternoon, and he decided to tidy up the flat. He had nothing better to do but wait for Sherlock now.

Jared came by later that day to assist in the recreation of his past. He told Sherlock and John all he could remember. This is what they discovered:

After they moved to England, Louise homeschooled Jared and Clare. One year later though, Louise disappeared leaving her children basically orphans who were put into foster care. There, they were raised and homeschooled with the other children. There was an extensive search into Louise's disappearance. The checked on her husband in America but he had an airtight alibi. He was in prison again. They never found her, living or dead. Since then, Jared and Clare's lives seemed rather insignificant up until now.

Jared and Clare's father was a different story though. Mark Holliday was not a good man. Growing up in an abusive family, he found drugs and alcohol young. When he was twenty, he met Louise at a party. They were together for a short time before they ran away together. They had discovered she was pregnant and they were afraid Louise's mother would kill her. After they eloped, and had Jared, the drinking began again. He would hit Louise, but never laid a finger on the baby growing up. A few years later, Louise got pregnant again and he abuse stopped. She gave birth to Clare nine months later. Just months after that, the abuse started again. Jared was old enough to realize this was wrong, which was when Mark decided Jared could also be a punching bag. For eight years, Louise dealt with the abuse, trying to keep it away from the children as much as she could, but eventually, she couldn't take it anymore. She packed up the kids and left him. He had been in jail and she knew this was the best time to leave. Six months later, he found them and attacked. She called the cops and they arrested him and she ran again. It took him almost a year to find them this time, but he did. Louise realized that to get away from him, she would have to take her children somewhere else. A different country. She got them passports, and they hopped on a plane with the little luggage they had. Jared never knew what happened to his father after that, but Sherlock did.

Mark spent years trying to find them, but eventually he was shot in the head over a drug dispute, making Jared and Clare real orphans. Sherlock knew that was best, but he decided to keep that little bit of information away from Jared. He had to believe he wasn't totally alone. Jared spent the rest of the afternoon recounting his life growing up, specifically, the days before his mother disappeared.

His mother had come home from work one day in hysterics, screaming about men following her, watching her. That day, a man had left a tip saying "We'll get you soon" and left before she could call the police. She had barricaded the house, locked all the doors and windows, and told Jared to watch Clare and make sure she didn't try to leave. This went on for a few days, they were not allowed to leave and they had to ration food. Their mother spent much of her time peeking out of windows or locking herself into her room. One day, she never came downstairs though. When Jared went to check, the window was open and his mother was gone. Left on her bed was a calling card with the words **_Magic Man_** on it. They haven't heard from their mother since.

"Jared, thank you for helping with this case." John told him after he finished with his story. John knew that couldn't of been easy, but Jared was strong. Much better than yesterday. 'I wonder what drugs Sherlock gave him,' John thought to himself. John walked him to the street and made sure he got a cab before heading back upstairs where he found Sherlock furiously typing on his phone.

Despite Jared's wish to avoid Scotland Yard at all costs, Sherlock knew he would need help. He texted Lestrade, "Baker St. now. SH." Sherlock also texted those of his homeless network with phones. He asked for any information involving disappearances of homeless women similar to this and any information involving the words Magic Man.

"Well, it seems like you've got this under control. Mind if I pop out then?" John asked. He wasn't sure if he wanted to leave Sherlock alone again tonight, but he hadn't seen Mary since this morning. "You're quite right, I have this under control. Go ahead on home." Sherlock replied. "Alright then, see you tomorrow?" John asked. "If you wish to come by then, yes, I'll see you tomorrow." Was all Sherlock said as he continued to type on his phone. John picked up his coat and looked at Sherlock one more time before heading out into the street and home to his wife.

Lestrade was there ten minutes later, rushing up the stairs. "What's so important I had to leave work early? I could get fired for this, you know?"

"Hmmmm, no you can't. You haven't left work early or taken a day off since John's wedding. Trouble with your wife again?" Sherlock responded. He never even looked up at Lestrade when he came into the room.

"Look, Sherlock, what do you want?" Lestrade asked, avoiding the subject of his wife. He was currently going through a nasty divorce, but he didn't need to tell Sherlock that. Lestrade was wearing dress trousers with a white shirt and a blazer. He had on a longer coat that fit him nicely. His hair was cropped short with more salt than pepper in it.

Sherlock regaled him with what he had discovered and studied Lestrade to see what kind of reaction he would have. When Sherlock got to the part about there being spies in Scotland Yard, Lestrade interrupted. "Really?" he said incredulously. "Spies? In Scotland Yard? Don't you think we would've heard about it or discovered it?" "Lestrade, there spies. You're not supposed to know about them. And I find it entirely possible that some members of Scotland Yard could be working for other entities." Sherlock responded. "Have you heard anything about this Magic Man though?"

Sherlock watched Lestrade. Greg leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. Sherlock watched him think, going back through past cases, if anything would seem like this particular case. "We did have one guy, he was working a case where a girl went missing a few months ago. Half the evidence disappeared from lock-up and he just wanted to forget it. Said people go missing every day and she was probably just a runaway. He parents insisted she wasn't, like they knew for a fact she was kidnapped. Later though, we found footage of some guys breaking in and taking everything, we never caught them. You don't think he's got something to do with it?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock looked at Lestrade. Sherlock knew this man wasn't an idiot. In fact, Sherlock had a lot of respect for him. Sometimes he said things though, that Sherlock just had to wonder if maybe he was stupid. "Of course he's in on it. We need to get to Scotland Yard now." Sherlock jumped up and strode over to door while pulling out his phone. He typed a text as Lestrade talked, "What are you going to do? Arrest him? You don't have any proof!" Lestrade was rushing to keep up with Sherlock. He was already down the stairs and on the street.

"Meet me at Scotland Yard now. SH" Sherlock texted to John. He thought for a second though and added another, "Emergency. It's about the case. SH" he shut his phone and put it back in his coat pocket and he turned to Lestrade. "So, did you drive or are we taking a cab?"

"Cab, but we have to hurry, his shift is almost over." Lestrade said as Sherlock hailed a cab. They climbed in and gave to directions to head to Scotland Yard. "Sherlock, we don't exactly have proof that this guy was in on it. We can't arrest him without probably cause." Lestrade knew how Sherlock worked, but he wasn't arresting him unless Sherlock could give him solid proof about him being a spy. "Give me five minutes at his desk and I'll get you all the proof you need. I'd also like his phone. Who is he, by the way?" Sherlock asked. Sherlock pulled out his phone and started texting again. His homeless network was providing some useful information. In the past year, 6 women had gone missing off the streets, each one whispering about strange men following them, leaving them notes. Only three had actually heard of Magic Man though. Two of them were pointless, stating that they dealt in women, but Sherlock knew that already. One was very educational about the matter though.

This is what he had to say: Magic Man was a sex trafficking ring that took women using mental instability to their advantage. When they did finally close in, they drugged their food and waited for them to crash. This particular homeless man had witness this occur. They didn't know he saw, they didn't know he followed. He followed them all the way to Crockfords, one of the most famous and elite casinos in London, but that's where he had to stop. No way would they let a homeless man in there.

Sherlock smiled to himself, he had another lead. Lestrade next to him was getting very uncomfortable with the creepy look on Sherlock's face.

John heard his phone beep and pulled it out. A text from Sherlock:

Meet me at Scotland Yard now. SH.

John sighed to himself. It was getting late and he was tired. Besides, Mary was at home and pregnancy wasn't getting any easier. John knew he should soak up as much of this as he could. Once the baby came, he wouldn't be able to just up and leave Mary alone and run around with Sherlock. He had to think of hid child, and what it would do to both of them if somehow, John got hurt during one of his and Sherlock's escapades.

John thought long and hard on the cab ride home. It wouldn't be difficult to change his destination even after he was home, but he didn't want to make any rash decisions. It took him until the cab had almost got him home when he made up his mind. By then he had received another text from Sherlock:

Emergency. It's about the case. SH.

John paused. He was really going to do this, and there was no changing his mind. He typed out his response and told the cabbie what to do next.


End file.
